Likely Alliance
by Paperclippe
Summary: Danarius is dead, and Fenris thinks himself safe - or as safe as one who counts Hawke as a friend can be. But a new threat arises and cannot be ignored, even if it means revisiting the past.
1. If You Can Find Me

**Likely Alliance**  
Chapter 1: If You Can Find Me

_A note on the text: Consider this an interlude. Events of the story will clue you into the placement of this small tale within the framework of Dragon Age II, but as such, it is unimportant. The concept itself was born of my rolling thoughts about the other alchemical materials in the game around in my head in comparison with lyrium and developed as such. I'm posting this intentionally prematurely. As it stands, the story is incomplete. I wrote it more than six months ago and hit a wall; if the feedback is good, perhaps I'll find it in me to write... some sort of conclusion. I make no promises. About six chapters have been written. This is the first._

Hawke had kept him out late that night and Fenris returned to his run-down mansion bleary-eyed. Admittedly, he was more suited to a nocturnal lifestyle, but after so many daylight missions and so many hours swinging around a hefty sword, he needed a rest. He shouldered open the front door, which he never even bothered to lock; when Danarius still drew breath, Fenris considered it an invitation to a necessary conflict. Now that the magister was dead, Fenris didn't think to upgrade his security. Hawke was welcome to barge in at any moment, and the others would whether they were welcome to or not.

Taking a long stretch in the foyer, he rolled his head on his shoulders, the cracking of his spine echoing through the cavernous abode. Wearily, he sighed, grateful for the dim lights, the thick walls, the solitude. The door between the entry and the main hall was open - he didn't think he had ever had it closed, and he strode through it, rubbing his tired eyes. A bit of wine, he vowed, and then a decidedly long rest.

In the darkness, he never saw the hand that clamped firmly over his mouth, nor who owned it, but in his ear came a whisper, "Shh. I am an ally." Fenris made to break away, to draw his sword, but a tight grip on his wrist prevented him from making the sudden move he required.

The whisper came again. "Don't. In your quarters is a magister. Two more were out of sight at your front door. They watched you come in. Their scouts are on the streets if you try to run. No one is posted at the back door and they do not know I'm here. They don't know you'll be warned." The voice was harsh, desexed by the low, secretive volume.

Slowly, to prove benevolence, the hand drew away from Fenris' mouth, but the other stayed tight around his wrist. Quickly, Fenris turned his head, and in the dim light, he saw a small, lithe figure, beckoning him close with it's free hand. Its bright eyes reflected the pallor; he could tell the creature was an elf, but no more; it was swathed in black, all defining features intentionally obscured. It released him entirely.

Fenris opened his mouth but the elf shook it's head, seeming panicked. "You have one chance. Follow me, or face them alone, if you think you can win," and the form slipped away into the darkness.

Quickly contemplating the latter option, Fenris remembered slaying Danarius - the magister he could have put down without complication, but the shades and demons summoned had required the aid of Hawke, the dwarf, and the guard-captain. Three magisters? Fenris was not a fool. But -

"If this is a trap," he breathed as he hurried behind the stealthy figure, "your life is forfeit."

The elf turned quickly to face him, answering, "Now that I believe."

The off-hand remark made the character seem more trustworthy in its non-defense of itself. That, compounded with the fact that it would have just as easily left him alone, practically had left him alone, frightened him more than the prospect of a trap. Magisters! Did they seek revenge or recapture? Neither option was something Fenris wanted to consider.

At the back door, the figure stepped aside and allowed Fenris to go first, but he shook his head; he didn't want the elf behind him, still suspicious of its motives. It shrugged, and pushed open the door as silently as possible, slinking out into the Hightown night. Fleet of foot, it made to escape, but Fenris, leaving the door hanging open to avoid alerting whatever lurked in his chambers, deftly reached out and grabbed the elf by its elbow, dragging it away from the mansion and through Hightown's streets, avoiding any route he would have made from his front door; he didn't know how far the scouts reached, how far the magisters could see. He brought it to Hawke's front door where he could seek help should the need arise.

Pushing the creature up against one ivy-lined pillar, Fenris held it by its collar and demanded, "Who are you?"

It raised its hands to show it was unarmed, and Fenris released his hold on its collar. Reaching for the black swaddling that covered all but the elf's green eyes, it tore the cover back, revealing Dalish tattoos, thin lips, and a head of pitch-black hair that hung in ringlets, falling just above its shoulders. The face bore lines around its mouth, and in the moonlight, Fenris could make out something unusual - thick, curving black scars on its cheeks, following the contours of the Dalish vallaslin, scars of which its forehead and small chin were free.

"The magisters called me Sylvia, because they were ignorant and thought they were clever. My name is Adahlen. Before I was taken from them, my friends called me Ada." She said all this with a blunt, factual tone, though the events implied were awful. It was her tone, not the implications, that told Fenris what she was, or had been: a slave, just as he had been. "So _you_ are Fenris," she cocked her eyebrow, looking him over from head to toe. "You've made a lot of of Imperium citizens very angry." She nodded approval. "Good for you," she finished, and pulled her back away from the stone pillar, making to walk away.

Fenris narrowed his eyes; he was not finished questioning the elf and he made a grab for her arm once more. Adahlen, evading Fenris' grab, reached quickly behind her back and whipped back to face him, pushing the flat of her dagger against his throat.

"I have been restrained enough for this lifetime," she spat viciously, but her anger quickly subsided and she put away her weapon.

Fenris blinked quickly, lifting one hand to where the cold steel had pushed on his flesh. She was quick. "I apologise," he offered, knowing exactly what he was done, any doubt about her former enslavement confirmed. "But," he went on, "why come to warn me?"

Adahlen crossed her arms tightly. "One of the magisters who would see you returned to Tevinter is also looking for me. His name is Valerian, and you may dispatch him with my blessing."

Fenris parted his lips. "They mean to... take me back?"

"And worse after, I can only assume. Danarius was an important man, I'm sure you know." Her eyes scanned the empty quarter. "And thus you are warned." She gave him a small bow, one hand on her middle, the other behind her back, this time making slow strides away from him.

"Wait," he called to her after a moment's hesitation. "How can I find you again?" He took a few slow steps away from Hawke's door. This Adahlen seemed to know more than she was letting on; she'd known how to find him; more than that, she'd known who he was. Was he a wanted man throughout Tevinter? Had he really stirred up that much dust?

She turned to him and laughed. "If I have my way, you won't. If you can find me, so can he," and walking backwards, she rounded a corner, but not before throwing him a small salute.

Legs working up to a sprint, he dashed after her, but when he turned the very same corner, Adahlen was nowhere to be found. Moonbeams shone against Hightown's pervasive polished white stone. He had the impression he could catch the pale light more easily than he could catch the elf who had very likely saved his life.

He turned slowly in a circle and a half, before facing back the way he had come. He supposed he should ask Hawke for safe haven for a while, since what had become his mansion had now been taken away. Where he once had sought conflict he now wanted only peace.

"Shit," he cursed, and slunk back to the champion's estate.


	2. I Don't Think You Do

**Likely Alliance**

Chapter 2: I Don't Think You Do

"Now, don't take this the wrong way, Fenris," the guard-captain said slowly, "but had you been drinking?"

Fenris put his face in his hands. After a restless night of sleep in one of Hawke's guest rooms, the elf rose to find Hawke in the study, arms folded across her chest as she whispered to Aveline. Fenris' explanation to the champion the previous night had been rushed, spurred by his desire to finally lie down, but Hawke's do-gooder nature got in the way of secrecy and the elf found Hawke trying to explain the situation to Aveline. Even though the women had let him explain the story slowly, the disbelief on their faces was unmissable.

"Aveline. I barely made it through the door. Of course I hadn't been drinking!"

She put up her hands. "It had to be asked."

Hawke ran her hands through her short, dark hair. "Aveline, could you maybe -"

"My guardsmen are on their way."

"That's not necessary," Fenris snapped. The mansion still technically wasn't his even though its previous owner was deceased. The guard-captain had a way of bringing the situation up at the worst possible times.

"Don't worry, Fenris. Your squatting is the least of our concerns. If Tevinter magisters are trying to," she cleared her throat, "ply their trade in Kirkwall, they will be stopped." The slave trade was illegal everywhere except the Tevinter Imperium, and though they may have considered returning Fenris to the land where he had been enslaved reclamation of stolen goods, fair-minded Aveline considered it kidnapping, nothing less. She was not unsympathetic to his past, and he knew that. But the look she and Hawke were giving him made him wish he'd never opened his mouth.

"So this... Adele?"

"Adahlen," Fenris corrected Hawke.

"She just happened to be there at exactly the right moment to rescue you from certain death and disappear into the night."

He sighed, "I know what it must sound like."

Aveline laughed, "I don't think you do."

Behind his lips, Fenris licked his teeth, diverting his eyes to the ceiling. He put his hands on his thighs and stood. "Forget I mentioned it," he said and dismissed himself.

"Fenris," Hawke called remorsefully.

He paused, but did not turn around.

"You know I'll help you. It's just... I could use something more to go on."

He grumbled. "If I find anything, I'll let you know."

Bodhan and Sandel bid the elf adieu, but Fenris didn't even notice. He had to find Adahlen.


	3. Nowhere in This City is Safe

**Likely Alliance**

Chapter 3: Nowhere in This City is Safe

Without Hawke, Fenris was ill-equipped to pry into the minds and lives of Kirkwall's citizenry, so mostly he walked, taking stock of every face he saw. None of them struck him as familiar, save the people whose lives he'd more than likely had a hand in saving in the past. But no magister tried to snatch him off the street, and certainly none of faces were Adahlen. He would have known the twisted black scars on her cheeks from miles away.

When he'd made a full circuit of Hightown, Lowtown, and Darktown, he made his way reluctantly to the Docks, resisting the urge to gag. The smell of fish permeated every inch of the air, fish and seawater and spume. It was revolting, but it was one of the few places he had left to look.

As he descended the steps, passing by the land that had formerly been gifted to the Arishok, he heard a commotion to his right. A warehouse door hung open and men, whom Fenris presumed to be dockworkers or crewmen, were hustling someone into the street.

"We caught yer stow'way, Captain," a voice drifted above the clamour. "N' she's a pretty thing too. S'a shame about 'er face."

Fenris cocked an eyebrow, picking up his pace to see what all the fuss was about. It couldn't be Adahlen, could it? He saw the woman the hands were jostling, but she was facing away from him. The long ringlets of black hair, however, made him break into a sprint.

"Unhand her," he insisted, pushing through the crowd.

"N' just who are you?" demanded a ruddy-faced man, a man who had previously been addressed as Captain.

Before he answered, Fenris grabbed the black-haired figure and turned her to face him. Bright green eyes and deep, dark scars confirmed his suspicions. She wasn't swathed in black like she had been the preceding night; now she wore a short white shift and thin grey leggings. Her feet and arms were bare. If it weren't for her scars she would have seemed like any other elf; the weird black wounds covered her head to foot. Even her daggers, which had been moved from her back to her hips, seemed plain.

"Son of a bitch," Adahlen moaned.

Fenris looked the captain dead in his eyes and declared, "This girl is my sister. She's trying to run away from home. It's not the first time." Years with Hawke and Varric had taught him well. He kept a firm grip on Adahlen's arm as he lied, held it with both hands; she was not getting away from him again.

"Yer sister?" the captain looked doubtful and turned to his crew.

"Oh, I dunnae, Cap'n," said a man back to him. "Them elfs all look the same t'me."

The captain crossed his arms. "Yer sister's tried to stow away on one o'my ships, knife-ear." The captain's crew began to form a tight circle around the two elves.

Adahlen lurched forward but was restrained by Fenris. "Knife-ear? I'll pissing show you a knife, shem," she spat, but Fenris pinched her arm hard, widening his eyes at her in seriousness.

"Has she done any harm?" Fenris asked the men.

The captain reached one meaty hand behind his head and scratched his hair. "Well, not as such," he confessed. He frowned, looking Adahlen's lithe body over, then looked to Fenris, then to the pommel of Fenris' sword. "Right, well. You best get back to yer alienage. And tell that girl I only give one warning."

"I'm _right here_," Adahlen shouted, but Fenris, who was fighting not just Adahlen but his own urge to show the captain what for, whispered violently in her ear, "Do you have a death wish?"

She lowered her own tone as Fenris pulled her toward the stairs, "No. And that's why I need to get _out_ of this blasted city," she insisted.

"Those men would have torn you apart," Fenris lectured, "but only after they were done -"

"Then I'll find a different ship," she said stubbornly. "Because Valerian will do much worse to me."

Fenris sighed, exasperated. "I know somewhere safe," he muttered. Bringing her to Hawke would not only prove his sanity but give him time to wring all the information that he could from the elf-girl.

"Nowhere in this city is safe," she countered, but he didn't have it in him to play her game. He understood her fear; he was not unfamiliar with what she was going through. Fenris had spent years running, years in fear of his life. If he could help her at all, he would. But her smash-and-grab attitude was wearing thin, and Fenris was never known for his patience.

* * *

_Note: Posted these two chapters nearly back-to-back since both are so much shorter than the bulk of the others. Considered combining them into one, but the break was too clean and I figured I best just leave them as they are._

_Additionally: Nine chapters have been written, and since feedback has been generally positive, I've started work on a tenth. Wasn't sure there was any more to say, but it seems as though there might be a little more to add. So you all have at least that much to look forward too. I know, you're all waiting with baited breath.  
_


	4. Trust in Hawke

**Likely Alliance**

Chapter 4: Trust in Hawke

"I do believe we've been here before," Adehlen commented mock-pleasantly, looking all around her like a nervous bird. "Thank you so much for bringing me back to the one district I know the magisters have been in."

"Would you just shut up," Fenris growled, and he gave her arm, which he had not released, a firm shake. A moment of fear washed over the scarred woman's face and she flicked her eyes away from him. Guilt twinged Fenris, but he did not apologise. Instead, he reached out and opened Hawke's door, and shoved Adahlen through, slamming it behind him. He pushed her once more and she stumbled, falling into the main hall on her hands and knees. Hawke dashed in from the study.

"This is she," Fenris informed.

"I should have let them kill you." Adahlen rose, dusting off her knees.

It took everything in him not to push her down again.

Hawke put her hands on her hips. "Well, then. Fenris, I apologise." The champion turned to Adahlen, tilting her head as she examined the elf. "You're fleeing your former master?"

Adahlen nodded.

"I think we can help." Hawke smiled and cracked her knuckles, nodding to Fenris. "We have a zero-tolerance policy with slavers around here."

"I just hope you're prepared," Adahlen crossed her arms over he chest, hands on her shoulders. It seemed as though the arrogance had slowly bled out of her and her fear made her small. The black gashes on her face and hands acted like shadows and a sort of darkness passed over her. Fenris had gotten so used to running head-long into danger he forgot how hard it was to stop running away. He'd had time to come to terms with Danarius, years in fact, before he met and destroyed his former master. Adahlen was still running.

"Trust in Hawke," Fenris' low voice grumbled. "She has never let me down."

Hawke smiled, devoid of arrogance, and nodded to Adahlen.

"Marian, are you -" a tenor voice echoed through the estate, and a tall blonde man came from the study, a thick book hefted under his arm.

Fenris cleared his throat and amended, "Except the once."

The champion frowned at him, one eyebrow cocked.

"Fenris," the tall man said flatly, a non-committal greeting.

"Mage," the elf said back.

"Anders, this is Adahlen," Hawke, swept her hand toward the Dalish woman, and tucking the book a little more securely against his hip, Anders offered her his hand.

"Pleasure," he said, his voice much lighter than it had been toward Fenris. Adahlen removed one hand from her shoulder and held it out, trembling gently as they shook hands.

"Serah," she said, her head bowed modestly. Fenris flinched, but he could not accost her. It had taken him years to drop all the little things Danarius had beaten into his brain, all the little habits and rituals. And he had been rebellious from the start.

"'Anders' is quite alright," the mage allowed, and Adahlen quickly picked up her head, a sort of firmness slipping back into her stance.

"Adahlen requires our help," Hawke informed Anders. "She escaped from her master and came here to warn Fenris that magisters had been sent after him, seeking revenge."

"Damn," Anders cursed, half-playfully, half-serious.

"Yes, I know, what a tragedy for you," Fenris oozed sarcastically.

"Fight nicely," Hawke interjected.

"So I take it we'll be dancing this old dance again? Fighting blood mages? Saving the day? My favorite," the mage moaned. Adahlen smiled, and surprised, Anders smiled back. "Don't worry. Much as Fenris would like to disagree, I'm not like the people who enslaved you."

Adahlen shrugged. "A mage is a mage. I have no quarrel with you. Your magic doesn't incline you to corruption. Corrupt environments do."

"What," Fenris blurted.

Anders' jaw dropped. What?"

Adahlen turned to Fenris. "You... disagree?"

For a moment, his eyes darted about the room, as though trying to find security, then he fixed them on her. "I - of course I disagree! Look at what they did to us!"

"That is why I would go out of my way to ram a rusty plow through Valerian's blasted neck if I knew I could escape with my life." She folded her arms firmly, "But that's because he's a sick bastard. Not because he's a mage. I saw many a mage who had been enslaved by magisters because he would not sink to their level."

"You're my new favorite," Anders declared. Hawke laughed.

Fenris stared. He opened his mouth for words, but none came. Here was a woman, an elf, a slave, who had gone through what he had gone through, the very same. It couldn't have been that she had been treated any better; the fright in her eyes when he had caught her this morning spoke to the conditions she had been living under. And yet she harbored no fear for the power that had allowed this to happen? The fact that if her master had not been a magister she might have been able to fight, to flee for good, to... to...

Adahlen moved her hands back and forth, palms facing herself. "So, this is a thing between you two?" she motioned to Anders and Fenris.

Fenris stamped his foot. "This is not a _thing_!" he spat. "This a real danger! Their power goes unchecked!"

"So why haven't they taken over all of Thedas?"

"The templars -" Fenris began.

"Have no sway in Tevinter, not really. And yet the Imperium does not expand. In fact, mages have fought against its expansion in the past. I'm sure they would now, if it meant a better life for them, or a better understanding of magic," she said factually, looking at her fingernails.

Now all three were silent, and stared at Adahlen. She looked from Fenris, to Hawke, to Anders. "I had a lot of time to read, when I was not being beaten or forced to clean chamberpots." Adahlen chewed off a hangnail.

Anders turned to Hawke. "Can we keep her?"

Fenris threw up his hands and stormed out, slamming the front door behind him.

* * *

_Note: A bit of pandering, if you'll allow it. I think every author must be mandated to post this in at least one note at the end of at least one chapter, but reviews really do help keep a writer going. Don't misunderstand me; the author favoriting and story favoriting is definitely wonderful and lets me know you're coming back for more. But reviews let me know why. Let me know why you like this story. R&R, as they say, if you so feel inclined, and don't think me ungrateful. Thanks for reading.  
_


	5. And Yet You Live

**Likely Alliance**

Chapter 5: And Yet You Live

The elf met Aveline and a few of her guardsmen on his short, angry jaunt from Hawke's estate to his own. They informed him that his quarters - indeed, his entire mansion - were empty, with no signs of intrusion. He barely thanked her, running his hands over his face and stomping away.

He hadn't expected the magisters to stick around and try to trap him in his own residence after they figured out he was tipped off. It explained, too, why Adahlen had made a break for a ship so soon after arriving in Kirkwall. With no easy way to trap their pray, the magisters would no doubt have to seek them out.

And right now, Fenris didn't care if they caught Adahlen. He had no idea how she could be so sympathetic to mages after she had suffered at their hands for - for how long? Years? Decades? She had the marks of the Dalish, which meant she'd come of age in a clan, but how long after that was she taken? Just because the magisters made slaves of mages didn't mean those very same mages weren't capable of great evil. In fact, they would more than likely turn to blood magic to escape! He hadn't imagined he could be so angry with another person who had seen what he had seen. He couldn't even grapple with it in his head.

He doused the fires of his rage with wine, leaving all the doors in his mansion open to spite... to spite whom? Adahlen? Tevinters? He didn't care. He wasn't hiding. If he went down, he would at least go down fighting, not running away like a scared child.

He was uncorking a second bottle, grumbling to himself over the wine cellar's dwindling stock, when he saw her in the doorway.

Looking back to his task, he said, "Of course you're welcome here. Just barge in. Wouldn't be the first time."

"Your door was open. Both times, in fact. Shall I apologise for saving your life?" She put her hands on her hips like the stubborn idiot woman he thought her at the moment, his anger subdued to a vengeful smoulder of disbelief.

"You should apologise for being a fool," he suggested hurtfully, but she was unfazed.

"Then I suppose you'll be disappointed that I only came to apologise for upsetting you. I didn't mean to offend, and I am sorry I did." She took a step toward the table as Fenris freed the cork and chucked it into the fireplace, bringing the bottle to his lips. He took a long drink and Adahlen thought that he would not answer. Shaking her head, she turned to leave, but he finally spoke.

"I hope they get you, you know. I hope they get you and they take you back to the Imperium where your precious mages are masters of all they survey and they show you just how evil their magic is."

The was a pause, and Adahlen fixed her eyes on Fenris' bloodshot hazel ones. Then, in three great strides she went to him and with a flat hand, she smacked the bottle away from his lips, the backs of her fingers stinging his cheek.

"Look what you've done with your freedom, Fenris," she hissed. "You're free to rot here, alone." She spat on the floor next to him, and turning on her heel, she took a long, deliberate breath. In the door way, just before she left, she said, "_You_ don't need magic to be evil. You've done it all on your own. Hateful bastard," and she stormed down the steps.

"Ignorant bitch," he called after her, and repeated it into the neck of the bottle before he took another long drink in defiance of her. He heard the front door slam shut and he set the bottle down on the table, touching his hand to where her thin fingers had caught his face. The skin felt hot where the contact had been made, and still tingled. It hadn't really hurt; she probably hadn't meant it to. But as he looked down at the wine, he swore under his breath and rose from the table, all pleasant drunkenness wiped from his body, replaced only with the singing sensation of an on-coming headache.

Fenris followed her out, and didn't have to walk far to find her. She was sitting on the lower steps that would have lead away from the Chantry if the thick iron grate would have been drawn away from the passage where it lead. She was trying to stay inconspicuous by not staying entirely out of sight. With her hair over her eyes she looked like any other dejected refugee.

"Staying on the street, then?" he asked her, keeping his voice flat as he stood above her on the stair.

"Where else am I to go?" she didn't even look up.

"There's always the alienage."

She didn't even respond, only flashed her eyes up at him, anger making the green seem all the brighter.

He amended his response. "I'm sure Hawke would have you. She has space to spare."

"And then I would never hear the end of it from you, would I? Staying with Hawke to consort with the mage Anders?" Adahlen crossed her arms and leaned back against the cold stone. "I came here to do you a kindness, a favor if you will, given what we share, a favor I am now seriously reconsidering. I've done that. You're welcome to leave me alone for the magisters to claim."

"You need help," he offered.

"I need nothing from you. I shouldn't even have bothered to apologise," she said regretfully.

"I'm sorry," he finally said. "But I need something from you," he knelt down and found a seat beside her. "Information."

She pulled her hair back, using her hands to keep it out of her face. "I gave you all I had," she said honestly.

"But how are they tracking me? The lyrium? Why have they come?"

She shrugged. "You know why as well as I do: you're valuable. Doubly so now that you slew one of their own. But if it's the lyrium or magic or just common sense they're using to track you, your guess is as good as mine. I can only assume they're doing the same with me. That's why I need to find a ship. I can't stay where they are. I'm so much closer to dead for having stayed here this long. For even having come here to warn you."

"Hawke will keep you safe," he promised again.

"You keep saying that."

"And still you live."

She laughed, a bitter twinkle of a laugh, and pressed her hands to her face, black marks on her cheeks obscured by the ones on the back of her hands.

He gestured to them and she brought her hands into her lap, swallowing hard.

"It seems Valerian kept correspondence with Danarius - which probably also explains why it was he who came after you."

Fenris frowned. His master had indirectly inflicted Fenris' own fate on another. Just when he thought Danarius' tyranny could reach no further.

"Then they're using your lyrium to find you?"

She shook her head. "It's not lyrium. As far as I know, lyrium doesn't disfigure like this. Your own handsome markings are evidence of that," she said. "Valerian preferred a different poison, thinking he could turn me into some sort of living rune. He used orichalcum on me. He put the marks on my face to cover up my vallaslin, to erase who I was, where I'd come from." She paused, and rubbed her neck, looking up into the darkening sky. Evening was gripping the city, making everything feel compressed, at the same time making the shadows feel huge. Fenris stretched his legs out along three levels of stairs before bringing the bottoms of his bare feet together, balancing carefully on one step. He waited patiently for her to go on.

Pulling her bunched-up sleeves from her elbows to her wrists, Adahlen brought her knees in close and continued, "Almost immediately after my markings were finished, the orichalcum started to seep out of the wounds. They were silver at first, bright, aqueous silver. Valerian let me look at myself in a mirror. If they weren't so horrible, they might have been beautiful. But the orichalcum wouldn't set, and little beads of the stuff bled out of me like sweat. I was only conscious for three hours after they finished with me. The markings sickened me - I couldn't breathe, I collapsed. Valerian moved me to a bed, a real bed, the first I'd laid in in years. Maybe it was guilt, but he couldn't have been too guilty, because as far as I know, he left me to die. He sent for no healer, did nothing himself to revive me. He let me lay in a pool of the orichalcum that dripped out of me. In brief periods of waking, I remembered the smell, the horrible smell like damp rust. It left burns on my skin where the deeper puddles formed.

"I don't know how I lived. I know I threw myself out of bed, away from the orichalcum-soaked sheets, and lay on the floor. I don't know how long. It could have been hours. It could have been days."

She drew up into herself as close as she could. "When I regained my senses, and saw the raw black flesh the orichalcum left me with, I remembered screaming. I screamed until my voice was raw, pulled at my hair. It fell out in clumps in my hands. When Valerian found me, naked, panicked, burned and scarred, he told me I was worthless, that I was a failure. He threw fresh clothes at me and told me to get back to work."

Her lips remained parted as though she meant to say more, but a chill passed over her and she stood. Crossing her arms, she brought one hand to her mouth and picked nervously at her lips. "He was a bastard," she said, but her heart wasn't in it.

Rising to meet her, Fenris brought his fingertips to the thick, rough scar tissue on her face. It was smooth on the surface, but uneven, and left valleys in her skin against where the black flesh was raised. Adahlen didn't move when he touched her, but she couldn't meet his eyes. She'd been poked and prodded too many times; she'd become numb to it. Every new slave in the household before she'd escaped, everyone she'd helped flee once she was free herself, wanted to touch the horrible marks. She let them, so that they could understand just what had been perpetrated against her. But every time she was touched, she remembered Valerian carefully designing the markings for her, drawing them in wet chalk on her skin before the blade met her face, before the orichalcum was rubbed slowly into the open wound. It was a sick sort of tender curiosity, and it was horrible.

"I'm sorry, Adahlen," Fenris said, letting his hand fall to his side. "I'll never understand them. Why would Valerian ever bother to come after you if he thought you were worthless?" He meant it rhetorically, but she had an answer.

"Same as you: revenge." For the first time in hours, she smiled. "I didn't leave the Imperium when I escaped. I learned to use the shadows, and I learned to do it well enough to free other slaves, for a time. But I was betrayed. I thought I was freeing a young girl, an elf, like me. It turns out I was falling into a trap. I revealed myself to her, and she must have given a signal. I saw shades before I heard the footsteps of the magisters. I ran, and I ran. I think I cheated death a second time that night." She laughed, and it echoed in the stone corridor, sounding like leaves in the wind as it died away. The fixed black lines tugged at her soft white skin and wrinkles formed around her eyes. For an instant, she almost looked normal, untouched by her past. Fenris had had a few lucky moments like that since he'd arrived in Kirkwall. But he saw now that she had been braver than he had thought, that the pain she had endured had been worse even than his own. And she had still risked hew own life to warn him, out of what? Camaraderie? Or sympathy?

With new assurance, he said, "We will keep you safe."

"It's _we_ now? Not Hawke?" she jabbed, a bit of her arrogance returning. He rolled his eyes and folded his slender arms over his chest.

"Fenris, despite your remarks, believe me when I say I appreciate what you're offering. But the only safe place for me is out of Kirkwall."

"And when your master and his accomplices leave as well?"

"What, you don't think you and your Hawke can handle them?"

"If you think we can handle them, why leave?" He had set up his own trap for her, and she had fallen right into it. Indeed, as he searched her eyes for an answer, she looked defeated, and yet, happily so. It was the kind of pleasant defeat he'd experienced when Hawke had convinced Fenris himself to stop running. Adahlen's was probably temporary, given the circumstances, but after all, hadn't he thought his would be too?

"You're clever, Fenris. I never doubted what I'd heard the magisters say about you, that you were strong or defiant, because I knew it pained them to say anything about a slave that wasn't that they were obedient or quiet or dead. But they never said you were clever."

He tipped his head. "Being clever isn't a useful defence for a slave."

"You don't seem the type to hold back."

"I'm not a slave anymore," and he felt his chest swell a bit when he said it out loud. It was stupid, but the affirmation of his own freedom still gave him a sense of pride. It was more than most of his brethren could say.

"Go home, Fenris," Adahlen waved him away. "Enjoy your drink. If what you say is true then we have work ahead of us."

"I might enjoy some company, if you've forgiven me my remarks. For which I apologise, again."

She shook her head. "Not my company, certainly. I'm not one for revelry."

"I said nothing about revelry," he said stubbornly. "I suggest we get drunk and bemoan our misfortune."

"My goodness you know how to woo a woman," she said flatly.

"I'm still learning," he offered her his arm.

She rolled her eyes. "I'll go with you, but Maker be damned if you're walking me to the door."


	6. What She Deserved

**Likely Alliance**

Chapter 6: What She Deserved

It was only after her eyelids began to droop and her cheeks flushed plum that Adahlen confessed to Fenris that she'd never tasted wine before. She fanned her face with her long, thin fingers and tried to regain composure but her exaggerated movements betrayed her.

Sitting across the table from her, Fenris bit his laughter back. "How many years of your life and you never had a drink?"

"It is absolutely none of your business how many years have been in my life," she insisted, pointing at him vigorously. "And when would I have had a chance, Fenris? The Dalish aren't so big on intoxication, the alienage folk drink something that smells like armour polish, and Valerian would have slashed my throat if he caught me sneaking sips," she defended herself.

"How long have you been free?" he asked her, more serious this time.

"A year. Maybe two," her head rolled slowly on her shoulders and she slurred, "Keeping track of the days is beautiful at first, isn't it? Especially after I left Tevinter, that was like a second freedom. But when it's the only thing you're holding on to, when you're not keeping track of how many days you've been free but how many days you've been running... you stop counting, don't you? You just stop." She shook her head and swallowed. "I don't even _know_ how old I am."

Fenris frowned, scrutinising her. Her face was nearly free of lines except a crease on her forehead and crescents around her mouth, but the latter could have been caused by the strain of the orichalcum marks, the former by a life full of worry. Her hands were thin and rough where callouses had formed from hard work. Her hair didn't have a single silver strand. Compared to her, he must look ancient.

But he wasn't. The lyrium had turned his hair grey when he was barely an adult. The dark rings around his eyes were from long, frightened, sleepless nights, the hue of his skin from hot Seheron days. Their lives, though similar, showed on them very differently. In Fenris, he wore his age on his face. Adahlen, on the other hand, had been frozen, locked forever in a time she wanted to forget. Their ages were probably the same.

Adahlen's bright green eyes swung lazily, surveying the room. "Do you even know what the rest of this place looks like?" she asked belligerently, remarking on the fact that all of his belongs, his dinner table, and his bed were all harboured in the master bedroom.

"I know what the wine cellar looks like," he said proudly and she laughed. Adahlen stood and walked slowly around the room, swaying but sure on her feet. She went first to the corner where his sword was propped and she touched the pommel, gripped it, and drew it smoothly, despite her foggy head. She laid it out on her arm, letting it catch the firelight. "It's beautiful," she said, squinting. "Do you think it's really what the Archon Hessarian's sword looked like?"

"You know about the Blades of Mercy?"

"I read a lot," she said again, and Fenris felt a spike of jealousy.

"Valerian taught you?"

"To read? Of course not. My keeper taught me. Dalish aren't illiterate, city boy," she said, and she meant it playfully. "But Valerian allowed me, probably because it kept me quiet and out of the sight and was a hobby easily discarded at a moment's notice when I had to... well, when I was needed."

He put his hand on his chin and looked up at her as she turned the sword over delicately, before respectfully slipping it back in its sheath. She moved on, touching things around the room, picking up the lute and strumming it, putting it back and sitting on the bed.

"You don't have any books," she observed.

"I have no use for them," he said bluntly, and the intoxicated Adahlen narrowed her eyes, cocking her head.

"You can't..."

"No," he spat. "Not well."

Sympathy bled into her features, and apology as well. "I could teach you."

"Hawke has offered."

"Hawke seems busy."

That was the sad truth of it. Hawke was busy and so was he. And what use was it anyway?

Adahlen looked down, and folded her hands in her lap. Then she stood, turned in a slow, lazy circle, and walked to Fenris, kneeling wobbily. "I'm sorry," she put her hand on his knee, looking up at him, looking small. "I didn't mean anything." Then, out of nowhere, she asked, "Are you lonely?"

"I choose to be alone," he said, and picked up the wine.

Adahlen rose and crossed her arms. "A meaningless response."

Swallowing his drink, he elaborated, "Can I miss what I don't have if I choose not to have it?"

"Yes," Adahlen insisted.

"And you, so knowledgeable," he commented brashly, leaning back in his chair, one arm laying out across the table. He tipped his chin at her, "You, who barely know what it is yet to not have to answer to someone, who still run scared from your master when you disobey."

"Soon I'll be as good at it as you," she said nonchalantly, but he rose quickly and harshly grabbed her wrist, raising it to his face and shaking her.

"I stopped running. I faced Danarius and I cut him down," he insisted forcefully, the lyrium lines casting a faint blue glow on Adahlen.

"You did not," she countered. "You fell into the same trap I did. Varania tricked us both," she said the elf's name like a curse.

"And _I_ killed her!" Fenris shouted, tightening his fingers around Adahlen's arm, until her words sank in. Fenris' jaw dropped, the rage in his hazel eyes dimming, lyrium fading to inertness. His hands shook and he dropped Adahlen's wrist before taking a step back, nearly tripping over his chair, steadying himself with one hand on the mantle of the fireplace. "Varania...?" he breathed.

"She was the last 'slave' I ever tried to rescue, the one who sicced Valerian on me and drove me out of the Imperium," Adahlen explained. She reached down and grabbed the bottle of wine that Fenris had been drinking from and brought it to her lips, finishing it completely before she set the empty container down. She wiped her lips with the back of her scarred hand. "I'm glad you killed her." Her face was set, firm and fierce even though her head spun. Reaching out, she grabbed Fenris' hand with both of hers, clasping her fingers around his. He watched her, his head still swimming with word of his sister. He offered no reaction, his limbs limp as his mind raced.

"I didn't know she was your sister, not until I overheard the magisters talking about you here. She got what she deserved. I could have rescued Maker knows how many more slaves if she hadn't tried to turn me in." Adahlen's hands shook drunkenly as she swore, "I am truly sorry for everything you've been through." And though he knew it was not her place to apologise - if it was anyone's place, it was certainly not Adahlen's place - Fenris accepted.

"Thank you," his back and shoulders hunched, and in the dim light his cheeks were sallow, hand that still gripped the mantelpiece skeletal and frail. His hair hung over his eyes.

Keeping one hand on his, Adahlen bent her knees gently to look up at him, reaching out to brush the silver hairs away from his face, tucking it behind his ear before resting her palm on his jaw. Lifting his gaze, his hazy eyes lit on her face, her expression was serious, made all the more harsh by her vicious scars, but in her green eyes was a sorrowful gentleness. She took a small step toward him, and her eyes darted down, then back up to his. Her eyebrows furrowed as though she were making a dire consideration, but her head swayed a bit from wine. She took a long, deep breath and leaned in, tilting her chin up. Adahlen pushed her lips against his.

Fenris had thought he would turn her affection away but he did not, could not, making a small sound of relief, of release as he found himself no longer steadying himself against the fireplace but against her, free hand going to the small of her back and pressing their bodies together. She tasted of the sweetness of wine, of softness, and yet bitterness, like blood. He squeezed his eyes shut tight and he pressed his mouth harder against hers, as though seeking something from her he'd been trying to find for years. Adahlen slipped her hand away from his jaw, her fingertips grasping the back of his neck before losing themselves in his hair.

Every breath he drew was painful, stuttering, desperate. Every movement he made was shaky, slow, deliberate. When he could take no more he moved his lips to her face, before pressing his cheek to hers, both strong hands clinging to her back. Her skin was damp, and when she smoothed his hair he didn't know if the tears were hers or his. He felt her breath against his neck, his ear. Keeping his eyes shut, he sighed.


	7. Now I'm Ready

**Likely Alliance**

Chapter 7: Now I'm Ready

He awoke in his chair, Adahlen sleeping softly on his bed. His head throbbed from drink and confusion both. Fenris couldn't imagine Adahlen would feel much better when she arose. He pressed his palms into his cheeks and tried to clear his head. He couldn't place the time; the dim light from the window could have been morning or the middle of an overcast day. Rolling his head on his neck to get his blood flowing, Fenris heard a sound. He looked to Adahlen, but she, lying curled up on her side, had not moved. Perfectly still, he listened again. If it was Hawke, she would announce her presence. Aveline would do the same. Varric had made no plans with him to play diamondback that week. Isabella was thankfully gone and no one else ever came by. He counted to three.

Footsteps. Just footsteps.

He went to his bed quickly, quietly, and whispered in Adahlen's ear. "Wake up. We have to go."

She lolled her head and groaned in her sleep, but didn't wake. He reached out and shook her gently. "Come on, Adahlen."

She rolled onto her back and sat up cautiously, eyes darting about the room until they nearly crossed and she pressed her palm against her forehead, gasping, eyes wide, then squeezed shut. Fenris took her hand and pulled her out of bed. "I think they're back."

His words slowly permeating the violence of her headache, she breathed, "But how do we escape?"

He took up her daggers which had fallen to the floor. Handing them to her, he went for his blade. "As cleanly as we can. We make for Hawke and pray that she is home."

Strapping the daggers to her hips, Adahlen mumbled, "I'm not a huge fan of praying."

Silent now, Fenris stepped toward the door and motioned with his head that he would go first. Adahlen nodded, pressing her body against the wall beside the door. Sword at the ready, Fenris reached out with his right hand and pulled the door open, light on his feet as he made onto the balcony. Below him, his eyes met shades and elves who might be scouts for their masters. Were the magisters waiting in the wings for an ambush, or simply to cast their spells from safety?

Fenris whistled, drawing attention to himself, and he dashed down the steps to the right, giving Adahlen a clear, shadowed path on her left. He took down the first shade in two strikes, injuring a second in the process. A clean, circular swing of his blade made contact with the elven scouts and downed the second shade, but two more rose from the abyss. The magisters must be near, to summon more of the beasts.

One of the elves pulled back to a corner and drew a bow, but he failed to observe his surroundings and found Adahlen waiting for him, her dagger pressed against his throat. She hesitated only to demonstrate her superiority, smiling as she slashed the archer's flesh open, dropping him on the floor and making her way to the middle of the room. With a leap, she drove both daggers into one of the freshly-summoned shades, then flung herself to the door separating the hall and the foyer, and she kicked it open, expecting a fresh wave of enemies.

But there were none.

Quickly dispatching the injured shade and elves, Fenris watched Adahlen slash her way through the final shade, standing poised, ready for more, but none came. No more Fade creatures were summoned, no more scouts readied bows or knives.

"I know you're there!" Fenris shouted, but only the echoes of his own voice returned to him. Indeed, the mansion seemed truly silent.

"They wouldn't have been stupid enough to ignore the back door twice," Adahlen commented, plotting their escape route.

"Then we go out the front."

Wiping sweat from her forehead and taking a deep breath, Adahlen nodded in agreement, but murmured softly, "I think I'm going to be sick." She hiccuped, as though to prove her point.

Fenris stifled a laugh, walking past her to the front door. "This could be it. Are you ready?"

"No," she answered, but followed him closely.

He pulled the door open fiercely, letting in pale, morning sunlight and small wisps of fog. Nothing more. Bracing himself, he stepped into the street, turning in a circle once, twice, but Hightown was quiet.

"They are _toying_ with us!" he shouted.

Adahlen shook her head. "They've called us out. They know we're here, and we know the same. They know you've returned to the mansion. All they have to do now is wait."

Fenris wiped his cheek with the back of his hand, smearing blood that had splattered there. "Then we go to them."

Adahlen put up her hand and gave a choked whimper, walking past Fenris and toward the steps, where she bent over and gagged, retching. Catching her breath, she stood, insisting, "_Now_ I'm ready."

* * *

_Note: There are some new words in my profile for you. That's right, you. If you're reading this right now, go check them out._


	8. Not My Home

**Likely Alliance**

Chapter 8: Not My Home

"We have to make the first move," Fenris insisted. He'd been offered a seat in the study, but after the morning's events, he couldn't find it in himself to rest, even while speaking. "I lived this way too long. I will not let it happen again."

Hawke nodded, noting his consideration.

"Elf..." Varric the dwarf chimed in cautiously, "these magisters seem like the sort of people who would be good at not being found if they didn't want to be."

"It kills me to admit this, but aren't we the sort of people who find exactly those sort of people?" Anders lingered in the doorway, his arms crossed.

"Mage?" Fenris intoned with a weak smile.

"Yes, I'm saying I agree with you," Anders said to the floor, the firelight reflecting off of his glossy black pauldrons.

Hawke surveyed the room. Aveline was silent, sitting at the desk. Hawke knew the guard-captain was good for whatever they decided; she had no more desire to see slavers live than Fenris. Merrill held out; she had no want for any more bloodshed after the death of her keeper, and she certainly had no urge to seek it out. Varric thought it would be easier to wait, or even lure the magisters out of hiding, but Hawke didn't want to use Fenris or Adahlen as bait lest they be caught unprepared, not when the stakes were so high.

"Adahlen?"

The Dalish woman looked up from the floor. "Hm?"

"This is largely your problem. What would you suggest?" Hawke folded her hands, wispy black hair covering her eyes.

"I..."

Fenris looked at Adahlen. What would she do? Run? Hide? She caught his stare and he gave her a reassuring glance.

"We need to find them. They don't deserve to live. They've hurt, manipulated, enslaved, killed too many people for us to wait. But I think Varric's right; they won't show themselves unless we give them a reason."

Fenris felt something like pride swell in his chest for her. Why, he wondered? Was it because he was watching the same transformation in Adahlen that had taken place in him? Or that the magisters might finally think twice about coming to Kirkwall again? Or -

"Well," Hawke said with a decisive sigh, "I guess that about covers it." Fenris could see the resourceful woman was constructing a plan. "We go after the magisters." She sucked on her teeth briefly, then decided. "Fenris, Adahlen, Anders, meet me at The Hanged Man tomorrow night. Aveline, have your guards set a perimeter. Anyone can go in, but nobody gets out." She nodded to herself. "I've got some things to take care of until then," Hawke finished up, and ushered all but the strawberry-blonde mage out of the estate.

Out in the street, the party dispersed; Aveline had to tend to her duties, Varric was off to spread mostly true stories of the Champion, and Merrill had no real desire to socialise anymore.

"How are you feeling?" Fenris asked Adahlen with a chuckle.

"Like I've been hit over the head with a mallet and not allowed to pass out." She put her hands in the small pockets hidden in the seams of her shift and her eyes traced the cracks in the cobblestones. Fenris put a hand on her back to comfort her aching body. Adahlen sucked in a quick breath and jerked away involuntarily. Fenris quickly withdrew, and began to walk to the mansion to assess the damage of this morning's battle. Adahlen followed hesitantly. He cast a glance back to her to make sure she was there and turned to face forward again.

He didn't know what he expected from her. The previous night had been such a surprise and yet, such a welcome release. Had it meant anything to Adahlen? Did it even mean anything to him, aside from the fact that he now knew he was not terribly averse to the heat of her body, the touch of her skin? If he felt anything for her, was it only that he understood what she was going through?

Reaching the door, he let himself in, and once Adahlen was inside, he pushed it shut. He meant to lock it before realising he'd never even had a key. Frowning to himself, he watched Adahlen wander into the main hall, where she paused, looking about. "You should do something with this place."

"It's not my home," he commented.

"How long will it not be your home?"

The simplicity of the question took him off-guard; the complexity of the answer he would have to give kept him from responding at all. He got the feeling she understood, and for a brief flash, he trusted her implicitly.

"Ada -" he started to say, but by the time she responded, "Hm?" the moment was utterly lost. He shook his head.

"Do you think you'll stay here?" It was not what he was going to say, but he'd meant to ask it anyway. But Adahlen only shrugged. He supposed it was fair, in his non-answer to her own inquiry. He watched her pace the main hall back and forth, looking in vases and picking up paintings as though she were inclined to hang them on her own.

It was then he found an answer to her question; not the one she'd only just asked, but the one she'd asked last night.

He was lonely.


	9. It's Never Over

**Likely Alliance**

Chapter 9: It's Never Over

When they got to The Hanged Man, Fenris caught sight of Donnic, Aveline's husband and member of the guard, out of the corner of his eye. He gave the guardsman a small nod and whispered to Adahlen that the plan was underway. She swallowed, nodding. Her chest rose and fell in long slow breath and her eyes looked glassy. He held the door for her and watched her shake as she went inside, a chill passing over her from head to toe. Fenris had the strongest urge to console her, to comfort her, to grab her and tell her this was what she had been waiting for, that soon she would be free, really free, but he couldn't. He'd never felt anything in him like it before, and what was more, they had barely spoken since the meeting with Hawke the previous day. It felt like years ago.

The door slammed ominously behind him, echoing in the bar. It was nearly silent inside, a worrisome quiet that Fenris had never known in the inn. He was sure that Hawke had done her part and turned some of the patrons away for the evening, or even bribed them, but the insistent or ignorant few that lingered were more quiet than usual, keeping to themselves, to their drinks. In the corner of the bar, Fenris caught sight of Hawke. She sat alone and didn't look up at Adahlen or Fenris as she made a beckoning motion with her hand.

Fenris sat in a rickety chair and Adahlen stood behind him, her hand resting on the table as she bent to hear Hawke's words.

"Anders is upstairs. He will give the signal."

"The magis -" Fenris began, but Hawke cut him off.

"Already here."

"Where?" Adahlen asked, trembling

Hawke tipped her chin toward the steps.

"Aveline is outside with some of her guard," Hawke reaffirmed, and Fenris nodded, "but we will only call them in as a last-ditch effort. Without the guard, they can flee, and our first priority is stopping them."

"How did you..." Adahlen breathed.

Hawke shrugged and folded her hands. "Simple. I told them you would be here."

"You... spoke to them?" Fenris asked, skeptical.

"Not directly. But, and I am sad to say, your," she cleared her throat, "friends have friends of their own in high places, high places wherein I happen to reside."

"Who -" Fenris began to demand, but Anders appeared at the top of the stairs and quickly surveyed the bar, not allowing his eyes to rest on one place or person for too long. Casually, he tapped his staff against the floor and leaned against the doorway.

"Let's go," Hawke said. She had confidence in her voice, and for the first time, Fenris saw in Adahlen belief: this Marian Hawke, this Champion of Kirkwall, and her sundry crew, might just be able to keep Adahlen safe. They just might be able to win.

Hawke rose and walked ahead of Adahlen, who was followed by Fenris. Against his better judgement, he reached out and quickly took her hand, giving her fingers a quick squeeze before dropping them. She turned quickly to acknowledge his action and he thought he saw a smile. He tensed his fists, then flexed his hands out flat, finally letting his muscles relax as much as he could. He was prepared.

Anders nodded at them as they walked past; to anyone who watched at the bar, it would have looked like any other night at The Hanged Man, Hawke leading a group up to Varric's room for laughter and drinks. But Varric was not in his room, and the door was closed.

"I can't do this," Fenris heard Adahlen whisper, and from behind him, he heard Anders respond, "Of course you can." Briefly, he hated the mage for stepping in where he himself could have, but Fenris figured even Anders' words of comfort were worth something when they were true.

Hawke opened the door. Adahlen whimpered.

"So the Champion of Kirkwall has made time in her busy schedule to return property stolen from from the Tevinter Imperium. How generous," the magister's voice was as slick as his looks; feathery blonde hair, deep brown eyes, smooth skin, robes immaculate and glistening with their many golden threads. Hawke drew nearer to him. "Allow me to introduce myself," he went on. "I am Valerian, and these are my colleagues, Adora," and he indicated a sallow-faced woman to his left, whose tarnished-bronze hair was pulled back severely from her face, "and Horace," who was a squat little man with thick, dark hair parted fiercely down the middle. His robes were even more elaborate than Valerian's, and he adjusted them at the sound of his name.

"As I understand it," Adora said, cocking a suspicious eyebrow at Hawke, "you were the one who helped little Fenris murder poor Danarius. He was a good friend to me, Danarius."

"A good friend to us all," Valerian confirmed. "But perhaps the Champion has had a change of heart?"

Hawke smiled, and turned to Anders, who kicked the door shut. Fenris hadn't even noticed that Anders had slowly been egging them further into the room, but now they were all trapped here, the seven of them, the magisters outnumbered only by one.

"Not on your life," Hawke said firmly.

"Terribly unfortunate," Valerian said, licking his lips. "Little Adahlen, my favorite failure," he called her out, and Fenris watched her freeze. "What friends you've made. Such a shame," he walked alongside Varric's long table and approached the Dalish woman, but Hawke stayed fixed at her side, Fenris close behind. "I could have shown you mercy, had you not gone and spoiled our fun," he said, smiling sweetly at Fenris. Valerian clicked his tongue. "Horace?"

"Ah, indeed," he said oily. "Danarius willed his favorite slave to me, and I had come to collect what was rightfully mine."

"Two birds with one stone," Adora laughed.

"Your twisted rhetoric never changes," Fenris spat. "And you will not lay a hand on her." He stepped in front of Adahlen, narrowing his eyes and readying his blade.

"I don't need to," Valerian said carefully, his sick smile spreading. He raised his right hand only slightly. Behind Fenris, Adahlen made a series of quick, panicked noises and he spun around to face her, finding her elevated a few inches from the ground and encased in a thin wall of pale light. Her eyes were wide and frightened; they flicked about the room before landing on Fenris, pleading. But beyond her, Fenris could see Anders casting his own spell, ultraviolet and the smell of ozone spreading around Adahlen and her ethereal cage. Quickly enough, the casting was dispelled. If there were only one time Fenris were glad to have Anders' magic around, it was now.

Adahlen dropped, but claimed her feet again easily.

"You dare challenge me, mage?" Valerian spat. "You could join us, but instead you choose... this?" He turned his hand upwards, indicating the motley crue of Adahlen, Fenris, and Hawke.

"You're damned right I do," Anders said forcefully.

"You have no idea what kind of powers you're toying with."

From deep within him, Anders summoned up the spirit that used the mage's body as home. Overcome by the need to protect, Justice revealed himself in threatening blue mana-light on Anders' skin, and in his eyes. "But do you?" the transformed mage asked, his voice distorted by the spirit of the Fade.

Valerian's voice stayed calm but his eyes betrayed his concern as he ordered his comrades, "Get them. Take the slaves alive."

The fight declared, Fenris lunged at Valerian, leaping and bring his blade down on the magister, but the blow was glanced partly by a magical shield. From the corner of his eye, he saw Adahlen cloaked suddenly in blackness, creeping around the far edges of the room to Horace, distracted by his own spell casting. Adora bore on her sunken face absolute concentration, and it was then that Fenris heard the terrible, familiar crackle of the Veil splitting, and black Fade creatures were spat forth into material existence. Three magisters had no need for a posse of slaves or guards; the sheer number of demons they could summon was frightful. Hawke tore past with this same thought in mind, knowing that the summoning must be stopped.

From nothing, Anders conjured up a rain of fire. Fenris was not unfamiliar with the trick, and it disturbed each time that he received no injury from the glowing balls of plasma that glanced off his skin while Valerian quickly tried to back away from the flames. Performing his own trick of summoning, Fenris called forth the sickening power that lived in his skin, an instant of absolute pain racking his body as light poured from the lyrium, then subsided into a thin, controlled glow. He pressed on against Valerian, shades now at Fenris' back, rage demons plaguing Hawke on the opposite side of the room.

Horace had made to heal his companions but Adahlen, who was more skilled in battle than Fenris would have given her credit for, focused her efforts from a series of small blows into one explosive force, completely disrupting the magister's efforts to cast a spell. To add insult to injury, Horace now found himself bleeding, and tried to stem the flow with magic, forgetting his two companions in his panic. Her target sufficiently distracted, Adahlen slipped back into shadow so efficiently that Fenris himself, in the flurry of his own strikes, couldn't follow her movements until he saw her reappear behind Adora, Hawke having been made to focus her efforts on the legion of shades and abominations that were filling the room.

As soon as Anders' fire was extinguished, lashing waves of cold covered a half-moon shaped space, and Valerian slowed, frustration gleaming in his eyes. Reaching deep inside himself, the magister covered his body in a thick, ultraviolet haze, and Fenris had to step away. The slaver was impervious now, but not for long.

From behind him, Fenris heard Anders gasp, his own spellcasting taking its toll on the mage's possessed body. The light receded and the elf felt a cool sensation rush over him, cuts and magical burns healing.

Adora shrieked and Adahlen pulled a sticky, bloody dagger from the magister's back as the woman fell to the floor, finished. There was bloodlust in the Dalish woman's eyes. Spurred on by Adahlen's success, Hawke lashed her sword out and cut down two abominations. Though the room was still brimming with shades, some frozen from Anders' magic, the waves of reinforcements had been halted.

But Horace had regained his senses and the two remaining magisters, Valerian now released from his protective shell, seemed as refreshed as Fenris' own companions. Fenris swore. Anders was now focused on keeping those fighting alive; after his initial blast of damage, he had to keep his priorities in check. Hawke was still fighting the onslaught of Fade dwellers, and she was looking tired. But with each successive blow Fenris dealt Valerian, the elf felt more alive, every strike more powerful than the one before.

Adahlen screamed; one of the rage demons had made it to her, taking her by surprise; she'd been too focused on Horace to notice the beast behind her and Hawke could not hold them all. Resisting the urge to rush to her aid, Fenris called out to Anders, directing his attention to the flagging woman. Thankfully, the mage nodded, but Fenris saw his effort as he conjured up his last bit of mana to restore Adahlen.

"Hawke!" Anders called, and beckoned for lyrium. In one swift, unbroken motion, Hawke reached into a small pouch where she carried necessary supplies, withdrew a frighteningly blue phial, and tossed it to the mage, using the momentum of the motion to swing her sword around and cut into a group of shades. She'd felled most of them now and from the desperate gasps that were coming from Horace, Adahlen had finished off the healer and demon as well.

Fenris' confidence swelled, but in his distraction he failed to notice Valerian summoning an indigo orb, and suddenly the elf was being pulled helplessly toward the magister; to his dismay he saw the rest of his companions caught in the grip of the spell's gravity. He tried to pedal his feet against the tide, but it was hopeless. Opposite him, thin, lithe Adahlen was simply being dragged along the floor. Then, in a sudden blast of energy, the entire party was thrown against the wall, or into furniture.

For a moment, everything went dark.

Fenris' eyelids flickered open and he found himself in a corner, limbs askew, his sword feet away from him. He shook his head to fight the disorientation, and found Hawke bracing herself against the wall; Anders was crumpled over a chair and fighting to stand. The force of his own magic had knocked Valerian to his knees, but he rose easily, laughter spouting from his throat.

He failed to see Adahlen behind him, smallest and quickest of them all, and the first to rise. She dashed from the floor to a chair and onto Varric's long table, which had been knocked askew in the fray. Valerian heard the sound of her feet just fast enough to turn to face his former slave, just fast enough to watch her leap from higher ground, elbows recoiled.

She struck like a snake, lodging both daggers into Valerian's chest, knocking him to the floor. She went down with him, pinning him to the ground. Valerian tried to scream, but instead of sound, a bubble of blood issued from his mouth and his neck went limp, his hands still reaching for Adahlen with his last few breaths. Adahlen ripped out the daggers and thrust them in again, first the right, then the left. She withdrew and stuck the blades into the flesh of him arms, creating long, dark gashes in his skin, then jammed them into his face, twisting them. Each time she made a mark, marks that mimicked the black stains on her own skin, and each time she screamed like she herself were taking the blows. Fenris climbed to his feet and went to her as she inserted the blades into the fallen magister again.

"Ada," he said softly, "stop. It's over."

Either she didn't hear him or she gave him no heed, vicious tears running down her cheeks, washing away the blood that painted her skin in streaks as she lodged her knife in his chest again. Fenris reached out from behind her and grabbed her arms, pulling her away from the corpse. Adahlen fought with her fists, leaving the blades in Valerian's body, and knocked Fenris to his knees, but his grip on her remained firm and she collapsed against him, beating his chest with her hands until she was exhausted and gave in, racking sobs shaking her body as she pressed her face against Fenris' neck. He drew up his knees around her, her own body curled into a ball like an infant as she gasped for air, his arms holding her tight.

Fenris looked up and caught sight of Hawke, leaning weary and battered against a bruised Anders. Both were silent, understanding. Hawke nodded her head at the door, to show that she and the mage would leave them be. Fenris nodded, and the door swung open for an instant as the pair left the room, then blessedly shut again. Fenris clutched Adahlen, smoothed her dark hair, shiny with blood, and told her again, "It's over."

She clung to him, and with a choked sob, she spat, "It's never over."

* * *

_Note: Well, folks, that's what I have written up to (okay, that's partially a lie; I have at least one more chapter fairly complete, and maybe some bits and pieces of what could become an epilogue). I hope you've enjoyed the journey so far and as the story comes to a close I hope you'll be willing to share your thoughts on the tale so far. If you've checked my profile you'll know I already have a whole new DAII piece in the works but I promise to finish Likely Alliance before a single word of that goes up. I just hope you'll bear with me, as the going may be slow as I wind my way down. Thanks again._


	10. Doesn't Seem Right

**Likely Alliance**  
Chapter 10: Doesn't Seem Right

Adahlen didn't speak for days.

Fenris had taken her back to the mansion, and Aveline came to help wash the blood from the Dalish woman's skin; Ada had seemed more than content to leave it there, though perhaps content was the wrong word. She just sat, and stared, hands folded in her lap, vision fixed on a point only she could see.

Occasionally, Fenris would approach Adahlen in her chair and kneel before her, looking up in to her eyes. Sometimes he would ask her if she were alright, sometimes he would push her hair out of her eyes. He would wake in the middle of the night and glance over at her; only twice had he caught her sleeping. Even in the small hours she kept her eyes fixed and open, he presumed, until her body could take no more, and she would nod off, but he never saw her fall asleep, and he never saw her wake.

Near dusk on the fifth day, she seemed to ask the room, "But what do I do now?"

Fenris had been at his table, struggling over a book Hawke had lent him, the preceding silence so pervasive he at first thought his ears were deceiving him. But slowly, he lifted his head and turned his tired gaze toward the woman who had become a fixture and saw that he was no longer just looking, but that she was looking at him.

"Adahlen?" he asked, still not entirely sure she had actually spoken.

"What in the Maker's name am I supposed to do now?" she breathed, her voice dirty with disuse, and she trembled in the firelight.

Slowly, Fenris rose and went to her. He wanted to offer her advice, or condolences at least, but who was he to say anything? His eyes flicked from Ada to the stone walls within he lived, the walls owned by his own deceased master, the walls he had refused to give up. He sometimes told himself he stayed because it was familiar, because it was near to Hawke, because it was better than any Lowtown dive he could himself obtain assuming he would even be that lucky. But what was the truth? Did he stay because he chose to, or did he stay because it was the only link he had left to his past, a past that made him who he was, no matter how painful, how strange? Could that be his choice? Or was Ada right? Was it never over?

"You can do... whatever you want," he said noncommittally, still sweeping his surroundings with his eyes.

"Just like that," Adahlen murmured, and it wasn't a question, but Fenris confirmed, "Just like that."

She looked up at him, her brown lips pressed thin in concentration, and remarked, "It doesn't seem right."

He could have shaken her. "Doesn't seem _right_?" he breathed, blinking quickly. Right? What was right, then? Being enslaved, or being on the run from a slaver? What was right, having to fight for your life and stay hidden even when you thought you were safe? He could have shaken her, if he didn't know exactly how she felt.

Fenris had never born any love for his captors, there was no association or understanding between them. He imagined Adahlen felt the same, but he remembered those first moments, hours, days, after Danarius was finally gone, and Varania with him, and Hadriana too. He remembered how he felt, how shaken, how uncertain, how exposed. His purpose was gone. He'd never thought of a single thing but ridding the world of the man who had inflicted such horrors on Fenris and how many others. How long had it taken him to apologise to Hawke for his words and actions, even though all Marian had done was exactly what he asked, and given her full support, even of his more questionable decisions. She protected her precious mages, but she'd never doubted Fenris either. And he had been so cruel.

And here was Adahlen, who had no Hawke, no help, had nothing and no one left at all -

Except, perhaps, for Fenris.

"No," he muttered. "It doesn't seem right at all."


	11. For Now

Likely Alliance

Chapter 11: For Now

She didn't have anything to pack, but when Fenris came upon Adahlen, clad all in black like she had been on the night he had first encountered her, like she had been when she drove her daggers into Valerian's chest, Fenris knew she was leaving. He regretted immediately having left the mansion for even an instant to call on Hawke who had requested his presence for a quick and dirty mission on the Wounded Coast. He couldn't help but think that Adahlen had begun to pull herself together the moment he had left, but then, Fenris had been gone for hours. Was she waiting for him to come home? To what, to say goodbye?

"Where are you going?" He tried not to sound too hostile toward her, though his heart was pounding; for what reason, he couldn't say.

She looked up from her hip where she was slipping a stiletto into its sheath, and said, "With you," adding hesitantly, "I hope."

He shook his head, anxiety beginning to melt away, "I'm back now. Hawke's finished. Nothing else lined up for tonight," and he went to his chair, letting his body fall tired into the familiar seat. He put his elbows on the mahogany table and folded his arms, looking up at Adahlen through a lock of silver hair. She pursed her lips and rolled them out like a flag furling in the wind, then pressed them into an impatient frown as she pulled her curly hair back in her hands. The fireplace was dark and the shadows in the room both hid and enhanced the black strokes on her face. With the way they exaggerated her every expression, Adahlen was robbed of her ability to bluff, and he read her racing thoughts from across the room.

"What is it?" he pressed, and Adahlen let go of her hair, letting her arms fall limp at her sides. Her black mask was tucked into her belt and she tugged at it nervously, averting her green eyes from his hazel ones.

"Fenris," she groaned. She squeezed her eyes shut briefly, crunching up her face as though afflicted by some deep, internal stress. He tipped his head, trying once again to meet her gaze. "I can't - I can't stay here," she sputtered.

"I'm sure Hawke has somewhere -"

"No," Adahlen cut him off. "I can't stay in Kirkwall."

"Why not?" he asked, the beating of his heart picking up ever more.

"Why not?" she repeated. "Do you even have to ask?" She folded her hands imploringly. "Valerian is gone, and two more magisters with him. But that's only three out of - of how many, Fenris? Hundreds? More? Tevinter is a big place, a big place full of corruption, and if there's one thing of which you've been able to convince me - you and your Hawke - it's that these people can be taken down. I once contented myself freeing slaves, freeing people like us, but you've shown me that that's not enough. These magisters, they are truly evil, and even if all the slaves in the Imperium were freed, the magisters would still be out there. They don't deserve to live. They're why you hate mages, hate magic itself, and they're why countless others are imprisoned, are pressed into servitude are, are, are..." her voice broke as her hands separated and became independent fists, "...are scarred." She sucked in a deep breath, the air cog-wheeling into her lungs in quick, jerky gasps. "I have to _do_ something Fenris, I can't just stay here in Kirkwall and deal with what the magisters allow to wash up on shore. There's no other way. I've spent the last week searching myself for a reason not to go back there and finish what they started and the only thing I can come up with is," she paused again, longer this time, but her breathing was more calm, more controlled, "is you." Adahlen's jaw remained slack, trembling for the briefest moment before she swallowed hard and said again, "So I hope that you'll be coming with me. I hope that I'll be going... with you."

Fenris parted his lips but his mind made no words to pass between them. He stood from the table, collecting himself, heavy eyelids fluttering as though trying to kick his brain into action. "Adahlen," he started slowly. "I can't," and he heard himself saying the words before he realised he was speaking. "Hawke... does good work. Mostly. I suppose she doesn't need me, but she once asked for my aid and I agreed to aid her. Now I find myself more deeply in her debt than I ever thought I might allow myself to be, and I'm comfortable. Perhaps more comfortable than is right. Until, however, she no longer has want of my skills, I find myself at an impasse." He walked around the table, and looked at Adahlen, from her feet to her forehead. "Perhaps Hawke does not need me. But as Tevinter could use you, Kirkwall could use Hawke. And Hawke... can still use me." Fenris twisted his mouth into a sorrowful smile, sure of his choice even as he wished he wasn't. He reached out a hand and pushed Adahlen's dark ringlets out of her eyes. "I... am sorry."

Adahlen returned the same sad smile and pressed the palm of her hand against the back of Fenris', his own palm cupping her cheek, the dark orichalcum scars rough even against his calloused skin. "You have nothing to be sorry for. I only hope that, should Hawke ever see fit to wipe your slate clean, you might find that Tevinter could use you as well. I know I could." She wove her fingers into the spaces between his but kept his hand against her face, turning only to press her lips against his palm. He closed his eyes, returning her gesture as his moved his mouth to rest against her forehead, muttering against her skin, "It's not Hawke who will do the cleaning," and he brought his free hand to the back of her head, pushing a firm kiss to her brow, "but I will find you, when I can, and the magisters will tremble."

Adahlen let out a small sigh of a laugh, of relief, and closed the final distance between herself and Fenris. "You will find me. And so will they." She stayed still in his grasp as long as she could bear, his hand in her hair, his breath on her forehead. She closed her eyes and allowed herself one last long, quiet breath in.

"Goodbye, Fenris," was the sound her exhale made.

"For now," he answered, and found the strength to pull his mouth, his hand, away from her skin.

Adahlen shivered, suddenly cold in the empty, dark mansion and stepped back from him, letting her eyes sweep the room one last time, coming to rest on the lyrium-scarred elf, before she forced herself to turn away. Her bare feet patted the stone floor quietly, and Fenris watched her heels as they took her to the door.

When he was alone in the blue gloaming light, he retraced her footsteps, stopping as he reached out to press the tips of his index and middle fingers against the cool, bronze door handle.

Fenris left it unlocked.

THE END

_Note: Thanks for sticking with me to the bitter end. Please share your thoughts. All are welcome. New new news in the profile. Check it out if you want to know what's next._


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